


From the Wreckage We Built a Home

by fembuck



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: Canon Lesbian Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-02 20:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15804306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fembuck/pseuds/fembuck
Summary: A year after Charlotte last saw Isabella Fitzwilliam she receives an unexpected visitor at her doorstep and an unexpected proposition.





	1. Chapter 1

Charlotte shifted on the seat of the carriage, trying in vain to make herself feel more comfortable in a dress that wasn’t designed for comfort, on a journey that was far too long, to a place she wasn’t sure she wanted to visit. The carriage that was slowly conveying her to her destination had moved beyond London proper more than a hour before, which left Charlotte presently surrounded by green, more green, and many sounds of nature that she had rarely had the opportunity to hear having grown up in the bowels of London. 

It was a beautiful landscape to be sure, but a mostly alien one to a woman like Charlotte, and not for the first time since stepping into the carriage that morning, Charlotte Wells wondered what the hell she was doing.

It had been almost a year since she had laid eyes on Lady Isabella Fitzwilliam, and she had long ago decided to believe that whatever tender feelings had existed been between them were now nothing but a relic of the past, dead and gone, like her childhood, her innocence, and her burgeoning belief in romantic love. Therefore, it had come as quite a shock to Charlotte when a week before her carriage ride, in the dull light of morning, Fanny’s voice had thundered through the hallways of Greek Street, shouting, “Charlotte, ‘er Ladyship’s ‘ere for ya.”

Charlotte had just finished applying the heart-shaped adornment she usually wore beneath her left eye when Fanny’s voice reached her, and she thought that it was quite fortuitous timing because she would have surely ruined the adornment had the styling pencil still been pressed to her skin when Fanny’s words settled upon her. 

_ Isabella _ , she thought,  _ Isabella _ . 

And despite what she had spent months repeating to herself, and Nancy, and anyone who made the mistake of asking about her stoney heart, the mere thought of Isabella Fitzwilliam made Charlotte’s heartbeat quicken and simultaneously ache with pain.

Was she pleased by the thought that Isabella had come to her and waited for her down the stairs?

Was she enraged that after all of this time Isabella dared to show up at her doorstep, calling on her?

Charlotte didn’t know, and there was no time for her to dwell on it - as there was so little time to dwell on anything in her life.  

Whether she was pleased about it or not, the Heiress of Blayne was waiting for her downstairs, and Charlotte would go down and face her because she refused to allow Isabella Fitzwilliam to make a coward of her in her own home.

When she had reached the ground floor, Charlotte discovered the answer to her previous ponderings. As Charlotte approached the finely dressed figure in her hallway, she knew that she had been more pleased than enraged at the thought of seeing Isabella because the sight of the person who actually waited on her caused a throb of disappointment pulse through Charlotte.

Fanny had not lied, a Ladyship had come to call on Charlotte, but it was not the Lady Isabella Fitzwilliam that stood in the corridor smiling at her tentatively, but rather Isabella’s daughter, Sophia Fitzwilliam.

Charlotte recovered from the surprise quickly and invited Sophia to sit with her in the parlour where she immediately distracted herself by setting about making tea. As she went about her preparations, Charlotte inquired about Sophia’s ride to Greek Street, they discussed how pleasantly mild the weather had been of late, and Sophia told Charlotte a little about the school she had begun to attend before the girl enthused some about how much she preferred living in the city to her country boarding school. 

“And Isa … Lady Fitzwilliam,” Charlotte began upon taking her seat, a saucer and proper cup of tea now delicately balanced on her lap as well as Sophia’s.  “She is in good health?” 

There were very few reasons Charlotte could imagine for Sophia Fitzwilliam showing up at her door, and almost all of them centered around some kind of misfortune.

“Oh yes,” Sophia replied, smiling brightly, unaware of the alarm that her presence had caused Charlotte. “There have been some … difficulties, since we took up residence on St. James Street, but -”

“Your Uncle?” Charlotte asked, her heart seizing in her chest at the thought.

She had been surprised that she and her house had not been troubled by the Marquess of Blayne since he had snatched Fallon from their grasp, and a slow horror began to fill Charlotte’s heart at the thought that the reason for Harcourt’s absence from her affairs was because he had taken to focusing all of his evil on his sister once again.

“No,” Sophia said quickly, finally seeming to realize that her unexpected appearance at Greek Street had caused Charlotte to draw worrisome conclusions about the reason for her visit. “He has thus far kept his word to her and not afflicted either of us with his continued presence. Mother has seen him but a handful of times since our move, and then only to handle legalities.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Charlotte breathed out, muscles she had not been aware she had tensed relaxing upon hearing Sophia’s words.

Her feelings towards Isabella were complicated, but she could never hate the woman enough to wish a misery like any form of Harcourt’s attentions upon her.

Beyond the parlor door the sound of footsteps, clanging dishes, and the murmur of voices began rise as more of the household woke and began to go about preparing for their day, and Charlotte’s head distractedly turned towards the door, thoughts of the many things she was meant to be doing at this hour occupying her thoughts now that her fears had been assuaged.

“You have things to attend to,” Sophia observed astutely when Charlotte’s eyes met hers once again.

“Yes.  But the day is still young,” Charlotte replied kindly. “Still -”

“You are wondering why I’ve appeared on your doorstep this morn,” Sophia cut in knowingly, sitting up a little straighter before folding her hands neatly in her lap as she prepared to discuss the business that had brought her there.

“The thought did occur,” Charlotte murmured lightly, though a small, reassuring smile touched her lips to assure Sophia that she was in no way cross with her.

“It’s my mother,” Sophia began, watching Charlotte closely as she began her tale.  “She is in good health as we have already discussed, however … I fear … that is to say, her birthday approaches, and while she assures me that all she needs to be content in this life is to have me with her, safe, and happy, after all that she has suffered, I would like to see more than content. I would like to see her happy. 

“You may know … I am not sure, but riding is one of mother’s true joys in life, and so for her birthday I have arranged for us to visit the country manor in Devon. You are … my mother, she speaks of you with a deep fondness that I have not heard directed towards any of her contemporaries. The origins of your … friendship, and the cause of your estrangement have never been made clear to me, but I know that mother cares a great deal for you, and that she misses you terribly. 

“Hence the reason for my visit today,” Sophia continued, once again setting her eyes firmly on Charlotte’s. “I came to invite you to Devon for the weekend, for my mother’s birthday. It will be a small affair … as she no longer entertains the way she used to,” Sophia explained as she glanced away from Charlotte uncomfortable for a moment.

Charlotte understood what the girl could not or would not say outright. Isabella’s reputation had suffered upon claiming Sophia as her daughter, and keeping her openly in her home. The contemporaries Sophia had mentioned earlier, Isabella’s fellow courtiers, had no doubt distanced themselves from her, from even the faint whiff of scandal, and Sophia - good and decent child that she was - did not want her mother to be friendless on a day meant to celebrate her life.

“It would mean the world to her, to both of us, if you could attend,” Sophia concluded softly, hopefully as she gazed into Charlotte’s eyes.

Charlotte turned away from those eyes that were so much like Isabella’s. Isabella’s eyes, so blue, so soulful, so gentle, had been Charlotte’s undoing all those months ago. She had fallen into those eyes ... and then into Isabella, and all these months later she still ached to the core of her from the impact and aftermath of that fall. 

Charlotte’s eyes roamed the familiar surroundings of the parlour as she pondered Sophia’s request. Despite her earlier racing heart, and the relief she felt upon learning that Isabella was still safe and in good health, Charlotte was not certain that she wanted to see Isabella again. After the way things had ended between them, and the long silence afterwards, she wondered if anything good could come from them meeting again; she wondered if a reunion could soothe some of the bruises Isabella had left on Charlotte’s heart or if it would simply reopen old wounds and cause her to have to begin the healing process all over again.

Charlotte did not know, but as she turned to face Sophia once more, as she looked into those eyes, Isabella’s eyes, Charlotte could not find it within herself to unceremoniously dash Sophia’s hopes. And so, with a feeling of trepidation in her heart, Charlotte had smiled at Sophia, fetched a pen and paper, and taken the details for the trip from the young Lady Fitzwilliam with a promise that she would do her best to attend.

The carriage jostled slightly, shaking Charlotte out of the memory. She glanced out of the window, and when she did she saw that the landscape around her had changed.  It was still green, so very green, but now it was the green of a manicured lawn instead of that of tree lined roads that surrounded her.

The carriage was very close to the manor now, and the sleepy boredom that had been upon Charlotte for the long ride quickly transformed into a mixture of nervous excitement and anxiety that left Charlotte’s heart pounding and her stomach in knots.

_ Isabella _ , she thought,  _ Isabella _ .

Charlotte closed her eyes and focused on taking a few deep calming breaths.

She had come too far. 

There was no turning back now. 

She was going to see Isabella again, and when she did, she was determined that it would not be with red-rimmed eyes and shaky hands. 

She was Charlotte Wells after all.  She had seen it all. She had endured it all.  She had survived every rotten thing the world had hurled at her.  

She would not be broken by weekend in the country with a Grandee.

 

xxx

It was Sophia that greeted Charlotte upon entering the manor, and Sophia that gave her a tour of the home.

Isabella, Sophia had informed her as they walked, was out riding. 

If Charlotte had not been distracted by so many thoughts and feelings, she might have found this strange. Isabella was a Lady, and had spent her entire adult life hosting parties, dinners, and soirees, and by all accounts she had been very good at it. 

Isabella knew the importance of greeting ones guests, and considering the state of their relationship at present, it was odd that Isabella would choose not to be present when Charlotte arrived …

But, Charlotte did not question her current circumstances because she was grateful to have a little more time to shore up her defenses before once again coming face to face with her almost-beloved.

 

xxx

When Charlotte laid eyes on Isabella again for the first time in nearly a year, it was at a great distance. She and Sophia were on the patio at the back of the manor taking tea and sandwiches when Charlotte’s eyes caught movement and began to track a figure in blue, sat atop a white horse when it appeared on the horizon.

“Stay and rest,” Sophia said as she stood, her eyes shifting nervously from Charlotte to the figure riding towards the stables.  “You have had a long day of travel. I will bring her to you presently.”

Charlotte studied the girl for a moment, and then sighed, shaking her head knowingly.

“She doesn’t know I’m here, does she?” Charlotte asked as Sophia anxiously ran her hands over her dress, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.

“No,” Sophia admitted, her eyes dropping to consider her feet. “It would have spoiled the surprise,” she explained, shifting her weight awkwardly. “But please, do not worry,” she continued, finally looking back up at Charlotte. “She  _ will _ be glad to see you,” the girl stated firmly, nodding at Charlotte in a way that left the bawd with the distinct impression that Sophia was trying to convince herself of that as much as she was trying to convince Charlotte.

“Of course,” Charlotte said, forcing a bland smile onto her face. “I eagerly await your return.”

 

xxx

 

“Charlotte.”

An involuntary shiver ran through Charlotte at the sound of her name falling breathily from Lady Isabella Fitzwilliam’s lips.  It had been so long since she had heard it last, and she hated that she had missed it, she hated the way it still made her feel. 

The voice had come from behind her, in the direction of the manor house, which gave Charlotte a moment to compose herself. She had been seated with her back to the manor, so she was able to take a moment to close her eyes and breathe in and out deeply, once, twice, before she finally rose and turned to face the Heiress of Blayne.

“Lady Fitz,” Charlotte greeted lightly, offering Isabella an easy smile, a practiced smile, the smile she reserved for culls.

“I apologize for my sorry state,” Isabella began, clearly flustered as she glanced down at her riding habit.  “I … was not prepared for company,” she continued, glancing over at Sophia, who promptly looked at the ground with chagrin. “I am … very glad of it, however.  For you … to see you, I mean … that you are here,” she added, her brows creasing in consternation as she uncharacteristically stumbled over her words.

“There is no need to apologize, Lady Fitz. I have never seen you in a sorry state, and I do not now,” Charlotte replied, her words and tone kinder, and more truthful, than she had planned on them being. 

She had seen Isabella in nothing but stays, she had seen her rumpled and worn down after days of hiding out on Greek Street. She had seen Isabella bleary-eyed with her hair astray first thing in the morning, and she had seen Isabella in nothing at all.  And always, always, Isabella had been beautiful, just as she was at that moment. 

“I like your hat,” Charlotte noted, gesturing towards Isabella’s head, desperate to get her mind off contemplations of Isabella’s beauty and all of the forms Charlotte had seen it take during their brief friendship … courtship … partnership … whatever it had been.

“Do you?” Isabella asked, her lips twitching up slightly as her posture relaxed minutely.

“It is very … feathered,” Charlotte observed lightly.  “I’ve never seen such a finely feathered hat.”

“We’ll have to go riding before you leave then,” Isabella replied softly.  “I have another made from the same ostrich responsible for this one. You’ll see how well it helps one fly.”

“On a horse?” Charlotte asked lifting a dark brow, her lip curving up a little in a smile despite herself.

“So to speak,” Isabella breathed out, a more fully realized smile forming on her beautiful lips.  “I am …” Isabella continued sincerely a moment later, her gaze and voice softening even more, “So very glad to see you.”

“Yes,” Charlotte murmured a little awkwardly, pleased to see Isabella too but not yet willing to admit to it.  “Thank you for having me.”

Her feelings of anger and resentment towards Isabella, the feelings of abandonment that had overwhelmed her as Isabella had walked away from her that day a year ago, were still present inside of Charlotte, overwhelmingly so at times, and Charlotte knew that her entire visit would not be as cordial as this first meeting under Sophia’s watchful eyes had so far been. But she could not deny -  at least to herself - that it did bring her pleasure to see Isabella again, to hear Isabella’s voice, to see Isabella’s smile. Much to her annoyance and dismay, despite herself, despite her pain, despite her broken heart, Charlotte still cared for her Ladyship, still thought of Isabella as  _ her _ Ladyship.

Isabella observed the younger woman silently for a moment, studying Charlotte’s expression, her posture, the look in her eyes, and then, she tentatively extended her hand towards Charlotte, still uncertain if her offer would be accepted but too hungry for Charlotte’s touch to hold herself back.

To Isabella’s relief her touch was allowed, and when Charlotte deepened the contact by squeezing Isabella’s hand firmly, the older woman’s eyes closed, luxuriating in the warmth of Charlotte’s skin and the comforting familiarity of her touch.

“Sophia, my love,” Isabella said softly what seemed like hours later, her eyes opening and turning towards her daughter.  “Would you be so kind as to give Ms. Wells and I a moment …”

“Of course,” Sophia cut in eagerly, smiling happily. “I haven’t yet shown her the gardens,” the younger Fitzwilliam added a moment later, nudging her mother’s shoulder with her own before she offered Charlotte a bright smile in parting and then headed towards the manor.

“I…” Isabella paused, momentarily flustered. “Would you like to see the gardens?” she asked, her hand still gripping Charlotte’s.

“That’d be nice,” Charlotte murmured, allowing Isabella to keep hold of her hand for the moment.  “I’ve never seen proper ones in the light of day before.”

Isabella smiled again, softly, shyly, and then finally slipped her hand out of Charlotte’s so that she could offer her arm to Charlotte in the same way any gentleman worth his title would have offered his arm to a lady before a stroll.

“Would you do me the honour, Ms. Wells?”

Though she did not want to be charmed, Charlotte’s lips turned up in a small smile as she slipped her arm through the opening Isabella presented to her, linking their arms together.

“Lead the way.”

 

xxx

 

The beginning of their walk was quiet, awkward affair, the silence that hung between them only occasionally broken by Isabella’s voice as she pointed out a flower or sculpture to Charlotte along the way. 

Eventually however, Isabella accepted that the inevitable could not be put off any longer, and when they came across a small fountain, hidden away in the depths of the garden, Isabella brought them to a stop and invited Charlotte to sit with her on the basin’s edge.

“Where did Sophia find you?” Isabella inquired softly, glancing at Charlotte tentatively before her eyes fluttered away to contemplate the beauty around them.

"The same place she saw me last,” Charlotte replied, following Isabella’s lead and staring at the sculpted hedges and brightly coloured blossoms surrounding them.

“Oh,” Isabella breathed out, “I thought perhaps …” she paused then, abandoning her words for so long that Charlotte thought she was not going to continue, though eventually she did. “I wrote to you.”

“It arrived,” Charlotte informed her.

Charlotte had been surprised to find Sophia in her house a week ago, but much of what the girl had told her about her living situation had not been a surprise to Charlotte. Isabella’s letter had arrived a few weeks after they had last seen each other. In it, Isabella had told her that she had gained control of her finances, that she had secured a residence for herself, and that Sophia was safe and living with her. Isabella had also written about what their friendship had meant to her, and how she wished they could renew it. She had written of a desire to see Charlotte again, of her desire to make amends, and she had given Charlotte an open invitation to visit her and Sophia “down the road” - as Isabella had put it - at her house in St. James Square. Isabella had then concluded the letter with a hope to hear back from Charlotte before signing off with a tenderly worded valediction.

Charlotte had wanted to burn the letter when it first arrived, but she had found that she was unable to. Instead, after reading it, she had placed it in a drawer in her room and decided that she could forget about it. But she hadn’t forgotten. She couldn’t forget, and she knew she didn’t really want to. She’d kept the letter because it reminded her of Isabella, because it smelled of Isabella, because it was the only thing she had left of Isabella, other than her memories. 

She had however, at least managed to stop herself from writing back to Isabella. And there, in the garden, with Isabella glancing over at her tentative and uncertain, Charlotte felt a sense of satisfaction grow inside of her at the knowledge that her refusal to respond had affected Isabella in some way, that it had hurt her as Isabella’s actions had hurt Charlotte. 

“Did you read it?” Isabella asked hesitantly, turning to face Charlotte again, studying the younger woman’s profile.

“Yes,” Charlotte replied stiffly. “I was pleased to read that you and Sophia were safe,” Charlotte continued, her head still facing forward, away from Isabella.

“Charlotte,” Isabella breathed out tremulously, reaching for Charlotte’s hand as she had early that day, on the patio with Sophia.  “Please. You must know that I never wanted to -”

Charlotte tugged her hand from Isabella’s, the motion halting the heiress’s words.

Charlotte couldn’t do this yet. She couldn’t have this conversation. She wasn’t ready for it.

“Did you hear about Quigley?” Charlotte asked, folding her hands back into her lap as she attempted to redirect the conversation to a topic that didn’t make her feel like her insides were being torn out by a pack of wild dogs.

“Bedlam,” Isabella stated, her tone relieved and satisfied.  “Your doing?”

“My plotting at the very least,” Charlotte replied with a humourless little laugh.  “It required the cooperation of her fuckwit son. Still … Ma would’ve …” Charlotte closed her eyes and angled her head away from Isabella, hiding for a moment until she could get control of her emotions. “I got the She-Devil, and kept my hands clean. Ma never wanted me to have blood on my hands, to be damned, especially on account of a wretch like Dame Death.”

“She would have been so proud of you,” Isabella said softly, hands twitching in her lap with the desire to reach out and offer comfort to Charlotte, though she fought the urge to try again so soon after Charlotte had rejected her touch. “As am I,” Isabella added a moment later, uncertain how her words would be taken, but wanting Charlotte to know nonetheless.  “Your spirit is indomitable.”

Charlotte released a harsh little puff of laughter in response to Isabella’s words, but still turned to face her.

“I got the idea from your brother,” Charlotte told her, holding Isabella’s for a moment before it became too much and she had to look away.  “At least this time the fruits of his diseased mind led to someone who deserved it suffering. Speaking of … where is the beast?”

“Abroad,” Isabella murmured. “It would seem that London, that England even, isn’t big enough for both of us when I am able to walk freely. I have heard he has taken up residence in Paris.”

“A blessing,” Charlotte stated, genuinely glad to hear it. “I thought he would make his displeasure with our treatment of the wretch Fallon felt. Nancy even moved in with us on Greek Street for a few months as a precaution ... after her home had been compromised,” Charlotte continued, her last words pointed and accusatory, designed to remind Isabella of the part she had played in creating that situation.

The words landed as Charlotte hoped they would, and Isabella looked down at her lap, momentarily at a loss for what to say.

“I know,” Isabella began slowly, carefully, “that you no longer think much of me. And, truly, I understand why that is. But I want you to know, that I never would have allowed him to harm you. It is true, I traded your secrets. I will not deny it. But I would never have put your life at risk.”

“You did,” Charlotte stated hotly, unable to control the tide of emotion that surged within her upon hearing something so obviously untrue.  “When you gave up our location, when you gave him the means to take our security … you did, you put my life at risk.”

“I did not,” Isabella insisted, lifting her head to meet Charlotte’s eyes, holding them intently. “My inheritance, Sophia, the house, were all part of the bargain I stuck with Harcourt, but so was a guarantee that no harm would come to you. You are, and have always been, so precious to me.  I made very sure that Harcourt knew what the consequences would be if he ever dared harass you again.”

Charlotte stared at Isabella for a long moment, fighting against the warmth that had begun to blossom inside of her at Isabella’s words. She wanted to believe them, she wanted to believe that Isabella cared about her - that she had never stopped caring about her - she wanted to believe that Isabella had fought for her, but …

“Your inheritance, Sophia, your house, could all be secured in writing. But my safety … how could you have possibly known that he would keep his word once you’d given him what he wanted?”

“The Spartans were not the only part of his life that Harcourt sought to keep hidden, and he understood that with my financial freedom secured and my daughter safe by my side, that I was no longer forced to be the keeper of his secrets. If he were to sink, if I were to sink him, he could no longer take me with him. In this new reality, he chose to flee to Paris rather than test my resolve,” Isabella declared, her voice strong and sure.

Charlotte released another harsh puff of almost laughter, but this time her lips twitched at the edges, ever so slightly, though her almost smile did not last for long.

“I still don’t understand why you would … we had them, Isabella. We had them all. You would have had Sophia, and your brother, along his entire legion of ghouls, would have paid for their crimes. Fallon’s confession could not have been ignored. It -”

“I could not risk my daughter’s life, my daughter’s honor, on that slim chance,” Isabella interjected heatedly, her eyes which had been so soft since they reunited now blazing with fire. 

Her battles with the courts to secure her inheritance had shown her the many ways the legal system failed to serve or protect women, but it was her time with Charlotte that truly opened her eyes to the myriad ways the system, and the men who ruled it, were corrupted and broken. 

“I could not allow Sophia to be damned the way I was,” Isabella continued, her tone gentler. “To bear the shame that I have borne. To know the loneliness I have known.  To live without love as I -”

“You  _ have _ been loved,” Charlotte whispered fiercely, holding Isabella’s gaze challengingly. “Words are not all there is. Actions speak too, and what I shared with you that night … it was love.”

“I know,” Isabella breathed out, lips trembling as she blinked back tears. “I felt it,” she told Charlotte, unconsciously lifting her hand to press against her heart.  “You gave so much to me. But I lived more than thirty years on this earth before I found you. And I had all of one morning, a third of a singular day in all of my adult life where I knew some measure of peace, and love, and joy. And then I blinked, I breathed … and it was gone, ripped from me again, by Harcourt and that witch Quigley.”

Charlotte stared at Isabella for a moment, jaw clenched, eyes … blazing, so consumed with emotion for a moment that she could not speak.

“Do you not think…” Charlotte finally sputtered, angry and indignant, “I have known loneliness too, Isabella. I have known despair. For so long, I believed absolutely that I was so low, so tainted, so damaged, that I could not be loved.  I believed with all of me, that even if by some miracle someone wanted to love me, that I was not worth their time or effort,” Charlotte continued, voice cracking and tears welling in her eyes, as she thought of Daniel Marney and how desperately he had tried to convince her that she deserved to be happy, that she was capable of loving and worthy of being loved. 

“My body has been touched, over, and over, and over, and over again, since I was twelve years old …” Charlotte continued, her words drawing a gasp of surprise from Isabella who had never learned just how young Charlotte had been when she had been put to work.  “But my heart,” Charlotte said, lifting her hand to her chest, “My heart, I have shared sparingly, so, so sparingly … you do not know,” Charlotte breathed, eyes squeezing shut momentarily as she fought back a wave of tears. “But I shared it with you. I trusted you, and when we … it was so … so …,” Charlotte closed her eyes.  _ Beautiful _ , she thought, though she could not make herself say it.  “I … was so stupid,” she rasped, shaking her head at herself.  “I let myself think that maybe he was right, that maybe someone good, and kind, and gentle could truly care about…” Charlotte paused, wiping roughly, almost angrily, at streaks of tears she had failed to hold back.  “And you just … walked away.” 

“Charlotte,” Isabella exhaled roughly, her eyes shimmering wetly, her heart breaking at the sight of Charlotte’s tears and the knowledge that she was the cause of them. “I did not want to. It was the last thing I wanted,” she continued pleadingly, reaching out to take Charlotte’s hand and squeezing it tightly.  “I did not know how much my heart was capable of feeling until I met you. I am a spinster,” Isabella exhaled. “My girlhood is long gone. I had forgotten how to even dream about love. When I left your house that morning, with the taste of you still on my lips, I wanted nothing more than for your arms to become my home. But Charlotte,” Isabella said beseechingly, begging Charlotte with her eyes.  “She is my daughter. And he had her. He had my girl. My baby. And I know what he does to little girls. I had to save her, Charlotte. I am her mother.”

Charlotte knew the power of a mothers love. She knew the lengths that Margaret Wells had gone to for her, for Lucy, that she would have gone to for Jacob. She knew how fearsome and complete that love was. There was nothing her Ma had not been capable of in order to protect her children. Charlotte had seen the collateral damage her Ma’s protection had left behind, she had witnessed Emily Lacey’s fate, had even suffered temporarily herself in order for her Ma to keep Lucy safe. 

Charlotte lifted her hand to her face to rub tiredly at her eyes.

Even when things had been rough between herself and her mother, she had known that Margaret would wage war against the sun for her, that she would have fought every star in the sky for her.

Was it fair for her to expect Isabella to do less for her own child?

“You could have talked to me,” Charlotte said roughly, “You could have trusted me instead of walking away to ‘fend for yourself’,” she spat out, tossing Isabella’s words that day back at her, the hurt that Charlotte had been trying to hide since she had laid eyes on Isabella again now showing clearly in her voice and actions as she wiped at her eyes again, tears continuing to fall though she desperately didn’t want them too.

“Could I have Charlotte?” Isabella asked, softly, wearily, perhaps even with a touch of accusation.  “Would you have listened?”

Charlotte’s lips parted, an indignant, “Of course,” sitting on the tip of her tongue, anxious to break free ... but Charlotte did not let it loose.  Instead, she wondered,  _ Would I have listened? _  And a  moment later, her eyes closed, and she dipped her head down, angling it away from Isabella because she knew that she hadn’t.

Isabella had tried to tell her about her concerns, but Charlotte had not wanted to listen, she had not wanted to have a conversation about what was to be done, she had just wanted Isabella to do as she said, to believe what she said, as Isabella had gone along with everything Charlotte had proposed in the past.

She had been tired, and broken, and furious, and full of a burning desire for revenge. She had wanted those men - and Quigley - to pay for what they had done to her, and her sister, and to so many other young girls.  She wanted them to pay for taking her Ma away from her, and Lucy, and Jacob, and her Pa. For taking Margaret from Nancy, from the girls, from the world. 

Charlotte knew that she would not have entertained the idea Fallon’s confession was not the smoking gun she thought it was. At that time, in that broken state, she had been incapable of entertaining the idea that bringing the confession to the law might not have toppled the nests of the vipers around her.  

She had wanted them  _ all _ to pay.  

She wanted them  _ all _ to suffer.  

She had wanted their names and reputations to be dragged through the mud before their cold, dead bodies were. 

She wanted them to be nothing, to have nothing, to have wallowed in their own stink and filth in dark cells at the mercy of men as cruel and heartless as they themselves before they were finally hanged by the neck.

She would not have wanted to hear about how previous plans to use the law to their advantage had all had been thwarted, and how in failing those plans had led to death, to the rape of young Abigail, and to Amelia Scanwell being stabbed in the street.  

She would not have wanted to hear that Isabella could not risk trusting in the law with her daughter’s life and soul on the line, not after Isabella had witnessed and participated in more than one plot that Quigley and Harcourt had been able to buy, intimidate, or blackmail their way out of.  

She would not have wanted to be reminded that less than 24 hours before, Isabella had helped Charlotte manipulate the law herself, using her station and knowledge to blackmail the Chief Justice into releasing her Ma, only for them to see that decision reversed by mid-day and her Ma “hanged” by supper.

Charlotte had been consumed by her fight for her family.

Just like Isabella had been consumed by her desire to save her child.

Charlotte opened her eyes and turned to face Isabella once again, her previous thoughts forcing her to undertake a serious contemplation of the older woman. 

Isabella’s posture was rigid and her jaw tense, her hand fluttering every so often on her lap, fighting, Charlotte assumed, her desire to reach out and touch Charlotte - as she had tried to do throughout their walk. And her gaze … Charlotte felt a shiver run through her as she met Isabella’s gaze. The look in Isabella’s eyes was enthralling. The woman looked at her with such tenderness, such adoration, such longing … such regret. Isabella looked at her like the sun rose with Charlotte in the morning, like the stars twinkled at night for Charlotte’s pleasure alone, like Charlotte was the most wonderful and precious creature she had ever had the fortune to meet.   

And Charlotte wanted to live in that gaze. 

She wanted to wrap herself in it.  

She wanted to drown in it.

But she wasn’t sure that she could trust it anymore, she wasn’t sure that she could trust Isabella.

Trust had not come easily to Charlotte for a long time. Since she was still a child, barely older than Jacob was presently, her survival had depended on looking at people and thinking the worst, assuming the worst so that she was better prepared to protect herself if the worst that she could imagine turned out to be true. And as she sat there in the garden, contemplating the woman beside her, Charlotte realized that a part of her had always expected the worst she could imagine of Isabella to one day show itself to be true. A part of her had always expected Isabella to disappoint her, to betray her, to hurt her, to leave her, and so when Isabella had walked away from her that day, when she had arrived at Nancy’s to find Fallon gone, it was the most natural thing in the world for Charlotte to believe the worst of Isabella's actions. It had come to her as easily as breathing to believe that she had meant nothing to Isabella, to believe that she had never been no more than the means to an end to the woman.  

Charlotte looked away from Isabella again, not wanting the heiress to see how conflicted she was in her gaze.

For nearly a year Charlotte had been consumed by questions, questions that her mind answered with its own dark thoughts, fears, and worst assumptions. But now … 

There, in her immaculately maintained garden, Isabella had finally had a chance to speak her truth. She had been given the opportunity to answer the questions that had haunted Charlotte for so many months, to provide explanations to Charlotte for actions that had seemed inexplicable to the younger woman. And now, Charlotte had just one question left … was it enough?  

Had Isabella’s answers helped her to understand, made her believe, encouraged her to forgive?

_ Yes. _

Charlotte felt the answer more than she thought it.

_ Yes. _

Charlotte had been hurt.  It was true. She had shed enough tears to water the expansive gardens around them.  It was true. But she no longer believed Isabella to be a villain. She no longer believed Isabella’s actions to be malicious and heartless. And as Isabella lost the battle she had been fighting with herself and finally reached out to take Charlotte’s hand into her own, Charlotte could no longer believe that Isabella did not, and had never, cared about her.

Isabella had faced a terrible choice and she had done what she felt she had to, but that did not make her irredeemable, it did not make her unworthy of love, it did not make her a monster, and … it did not stop Charlotte from longing for her, from missing her, from loving her.

“Kiss me?” Charlotte breathed out, holding Isabella’s beautiful eyes with her own, refusing to hide from Isabella’s gaze this time.

“You … want me to?” Isabella asked softly, blinking rapidly against the sting of tears in her eyes.  “Truly?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said nodding, not just wanting, but suddenly  _ needing _ to feel Isabella’s lips against hers again. “Kiss me. Please.”

Charlotte longed for the peace she had felt spooned in Isabella’s arms their one and only night together. She longed for the sweetness of Isabella’s kisses, the salt of her skin, the taste of her cunt. She longed for the music of Isabella’s laughter delighting her ears. She longed for the sound of Isabella’s silken voice whispering sweet things in her ear. She longed for her friend and confidant, for her lover, and for the fragile dream she had once harboured so protectively of living in a world where she loved and was loved in return. 

Isabella breathed in sharply, her eyes blinking rapidly for a few seconds, fighting back tears of relief, joy, and gratitude. And then she shifted closer to Charlotte on the basin’s edge and slowly lifted her hands to tenderly cradle Charlotte’s face. She smoothed her thumbs over Charlotte’s soft cheeks, reverently, lovingly, and then she leaned in and drew Charlotte into a tender kiss.

“Again,” Charlotte demanded gently when Isabella pulled back from her lips.

Isabella’s lips curved up helplessly, smiling at Charlotte widely and brightly.

“So demanding,” Isabella whispered, her voice soft, and teasing, and utterly delighted. 

“Will you bend to my will?” Charlotte asked huskily, giddy and full of nerves as she wet her lips in anticipation of receiving Isabella’s once again.

“I will bend for your kiss,” Isabella answered, dragging her thumb longingly over Charlotte’s plump bottom lip, and then finally she made good on her words and leaned in to press her lips to Charlotte’s again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned, the next chapter coming soon! And as always, comments are welcome and greatly appreciated :)


	2. Chapter 2

Darkness had just settled in the night sky when Charlotte and Isabella finally returned to the manor, their hands clasped tightly together as they tried to reign in the schoolgirl giggles they had been breaking out into throughout the walk. As the air had grown cooler by what Isabella now thought of as ‘their fountain’, she had realized how late the hour had grown and she and Charlotte begun the journey back to the manor. Almost as soon as they set off, Isabella had begun to fret that Sophia was “surely going to have something clever to say” about their late arrival for dinner, and in her giddy state, Charlotte had not been able to stop herself laughing at at the thought of Sophia sitting the hallway waiting for them like a disapproving parent. Charlotte’s laughter prompted Isabella to try defending herself by adding, “Her witticisms are amusing when directed at our neighbours, but I find them distinctly less entertaining when I am the inspiration.” And this, of course, had only made Charlotte laugh more uproariously.  

Despite Isabella’s comments about not wanting to provide Sophia with more material for clever words, the heiress hadn’t been able to resist pulling Charlotte in for kisses and playful groping embraces during the walk anymore than Charlotte had been able to control the urge to indulge in Isabella’s lips and body as they journeyed, and this constant distraction had resulted in a walk that had taken them ten minutes in the afternoon taking them close to forty minutes to complete in the evening.

Shortly after they entered the manor, Isabella’s butler, William, hurried towards them, and as he approached, Charlotte assumed that she would soon lose the comforting presence of Isabella’s hand her own, figuring that Isabella would want to place some proprietary distance between them now that they were in polite company. To Charlotte’s surprise, Isabella did no such thing however, and as William offered Charlotte a perfunctory greeting, the young woman found herself returning it with far too large a grin, too happy in that moment to hide it.

Over the next few minutes Isabella did her best to look interested as William collected her hat and started to updated her about what had transpired in the house since she had left on her mid-morning ride. He lost Charlotte to a contemplation of Isabella’s lips and cheekbones sometime after mentioning that a package had arrived for Sophia, but Isabella was a lady through and through, and even though her heart was racing and her mind was foggy with pleasure from hours of uninterrupted time with Charlotte, she managed to focus her gaze on her butler and stand still until he had finished delivering his report.

“Thank you, William,” Isabella murmured graciously when he was done. “Would you be so kind as to show Ms. Wells to the library while I dress for dinner?” Isabella asked before turning to face Charlotte, a soft smile helplessly turning up her lips the moment she laid eyes upon the younger woman.  “Sophia will keep you company while I am gone.”

“You don’t actually need to dress for dinner, you know,” Charlotte said, her words both tender and amused. “I won’t think any less of you if you dine in your _riding habit_ ,” she continued, grinning, taking great delight in pronouncing the phrase ‘riding habit’ as if there was something inherently funny about it.

“I…” Isabella began before pausing, seemingly having come to the conclusion that she had no idea what to say to such a wild suggestion.

Then, to Charlotte’s continued amusement, Isabella looked towards William in bewilderment as if she was hoping that he could make sense of Charlotte’s ridiculous statement for her.

“You’re allowed to be comfortable every now and then, Lady Fitz,” Charlotte said, drawing both Isabella’s and William’s gazes back over to her.  

“Yes,” Isabella breathed out, finally finding her voice. “I suppose,” she continued, her expression turning ponderous for a few moments. “I am amongst … friends.” Her cheeks flushed slightly on the last word. “William,” she declared a moment later, having reached a decision. “I will show Ms. Wells to the library myself.”

“As you wish, my Lady,” William replied, bowing slightly.  “Ms. Wells,” he added, bowing again to Charlotte, and then, he was gone, disappearing as quickly and silently as he had appeared.

“The library is this way, isn’t it?” Charlotte asked, motioning to their right.

She had been paying attention during Sophia’s tour of the house.

“Yes,” Isabella said distractedly, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

“What’s wrong?” Charlotte asked, brows creasing in thought, trying to determine what could have perturbed Isabella so quickly.

“Do you suppose Sophia might take offense to my lack of dress?” Isabella asked worriedly.

Charlotte was quiet for a moment, thinking, and then a slow smile stretched across her lips as she took a step into Isabella and she murmured, “Lack of? If you ask me, my Lady, you have far, far too much dress,” as she pointedly lowered her gaze to Isabella’s chest.  Isabella’s eyes lowered with Charlotte’s, automatically following the younger woman’s gaze so that they were both watching Charlotte’s finger as it trailed seductively over Isabella’s clothed breast, tracing the break line of the heiress’s riding jacket. “See, no skin at all,” Charlotte sighed before looking up into Isabella’s eyes coquettishly. “So very proper. Maybe I should have let you change for dinner after all.”

“Charlotte,” Isabella gasped, sounding scandalized but looking delighted.  “That was a serious inquiry. I am still trying to make a good impression on her.”

Charlotte was quiet for a second as she struggled to adjust to her emotions being so suddenly thrown off kilter, Isabella’s words provoking a sharp shift inside of her, transforming what had been a growing state of randiness to something softer and more intimate.

“Lady Fitz,” Charlotte said, the title falling from her lips with infinite fondness. “That’s possibly the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard. But,” Charlotte continued earnestly, “You don’t need to worry. Sophia adores you, and wants only for you to be happy. She will not care how you are dressed.”

“You cannot know that for certain,” Isabella fretted softly.

“That she adores you?” Charlotte asked.

Isabella nodded.

“I am here, am I not?” Charlotte pointed out.  “Because of her,” she continued as she took Isabella’s hand.  “Because she cares about you and your happiness,” Charlotte went on, unable to stop herself from smiling when her words made Isabella begin to smile.

"Why did you agree to come?” Isabella asked tentatively a moment later.

She was loathe to upset the light and playful mood that existed herself and Charlotte at the moment, but she had been curious about the answer since Sophia had ambushed her in the stable earlier and revealed to Isabella the plot she had hatched to help Isabella make peace with Charlotte.

“Because I adore you too. Even when I didn’t want to,” Charlotte replied, looking away from Isabella uncomfortably, still adjusting to revealing her soft underbelly to the older woman after such a long and heartrending time apart.

“Thank you,” Isabella said, taking Charlotte’s hands into her own and squeezing them tightly.  “For coming, for walking with me, for listening to me, for … existing,” she breathed out.  “I adore you too.  I am in awe of you.”

Charlotte sucked in a deep breath, and then closed her eyes and tilted her head back, summoning forth every iota of self-control that she could.

“The things you do to me,” Charlotte rasped, exhaling heavily as she gazed at Isabella with a mixture of hunger and veneration.  “We should find your daughter before I take hold of you do something filthy that I absolutely will not regret.”

Isabella gazed at Charlotte for a long moment, seriously considering letting Charlotte do whatever she wanted to, but, no. She really did need to fetch Sophia. She had dallied with Charlotte for far longer than she had anticipated and their late return meant that Sophia had not yet supped. She wanted Charlotte desperately, but she would not let her child go hungry.

“You make me flirt with madness,” Isabella whispered, shaking her head, drawing a practically sinful smile to Charlotte’s lips.  “Come, we must be quick. I fear we are in desperate need of a chaperone,” Isabella went on, already leading Charlotte down the hallway as the young woman had a hearty laugh at the idea of Isabella viewing her daughter as a chaperone.

 

xxx

“So, you were not devoured by wolves,” Sophia declared when Isabella and Charlotte pushed their way through the library’s doors. “I am much relieved. Inheritances are so hard to collect without a body,” she continued, earning an amused chuckle from Charlotte and a long-suffering sigh from Isabella. “Jane is absolutely beside herself,” Sophia went on as Isabella and Charlotte drew closer to her. “Apparently dinner has been warmed and rewarmed so many times she fears it is ruined. I believe the word ‘bereft’ is an apt description of her mood. ‘Wallowing in an abyss of despair’ would also not be inappropriate.”

“Genius is so temperamental,” Isabella murmured, shaking her head lightly. “Do not let Sophia’s recounting of Jane’s woes worry you. Dinner will be magnificent as it always is, and we will heap excesses of praise upon her afterwards to make up for our delayed arrival,” Isabella directed towards Charlotte. “But even if we were not blessed enough to have a true artist like Jane among us, I think what they say is true, and that a meal shared with those close to one’s heart is a meal one will always enjoy.”

“I’ve shared a few meals with family that call that saying into question, my Lady,” Charlotte teased.  “There’s a reason our kitchen’s mostly reserved for making tea.”

“And yet here you stand before us, alive and well,” Isabella observed, making Charlotte’s smile.  “I know you think Sophia and I of a very delicate stock, but I assure you that cold potatoes shall not drive us to hysterics. Isn’t that right, darling?” Isabella asked, holding out her hands to Sophia when her daughter approached her and then smiling warmly when Sophia took them.

“Yes, of course,” Sophia replied immediately, her mother’s good mood drawing a smile to her lips as well.  “It’s slicing bread that will do us in,” she added, drawing a gasp and a playfully affronted look from Isabella, which, as Charlotte was sure the heiress intended, made her daughter laugh.

“Well, there is no reason to allow dinner to further cool,” Isabella declared, an indulgent smile playing at the corners of her lips as Sophia struggled to get her giggles under control.  “Why don’t you show Charlotte to the dining room while I see to lifting Jane out of her abyss of despair,” Isabella suggested.

“As you wish,” Sophia replied gamely, smiling at Charlotte before holding her hand out in invitation to her.  

“So,” Charlotte began, grasping Sophia’s hand and allowing the girl to begin leading her towards the door. “Now that it’s just the two of us,” she continued in a faux whisper, clearly intending for Isabella to hear everything. “What was all that about slicing bread?”

“Well,” Sophia began, smiling mischievously.  “When we were -”

“On second thought,” Isabella called out as her daughter and Charlotte reached the door, “I think I will accompany you. There are some family heirlooms I should like to show to you along the way,” Isabella said to Charlotte once her long strides had carried her over to her loves.

“We’ll chat later,” Charlotte said conspiratorially to Sophia, knowing very well that Isabella’s sudden desire to educate her about family heirlooms was born from her desire to keep Sophia from divulging the truth about her bread slicing joke.

“She sees through your ploys, mother,” Sophia observed.

“Yes well,” Isabella sighed. “I’ll have to see if I can’t find a way to distract her, won’t I?” she continued, catching Charlotte’s eye foxily.

“Lady Fitz,” Charlotte began, meeting Isabella’s gaze boldly, “You are fearsome once you set your mind to a task. I suddenly fear your secret may never see the light of day.”

“Oh no, it will. I’ll tell you,” Sophia piped up. “I’ll tell her,” she continued turning to face her mother, her saucy words earning another appalled look from Isabella, which this time sent both Charlotte and Sophia into stitches.

 

xxx

Charlotte lounged on a couch that was far more comfortable than it looked in the manor’s library, where she, Sophia, and Isabella had retired after a delicious dinner that Jane the Cook really needn’t have worried the slightest bit about. Charlotte’s face ached pleasantly from having smiled so much throughout the day, her body was relaxed, and her cheeks were flushed from the brandy Isabella had kept flowing since they had settled themselves in the room.

“...is she still awake?” Charlotte asked, pausing the story she had been telling after glancing at Sophia.

The girl had started the evening out lounging next to her mother, however as evening had turned to night, Sophia had slumped over onto her mother, and, at least to Charlotte, looked to have fully fallen asleep.

“She can hear you,” Sophia grumbled indignantly, her words and tone making Isabella’s lips curve up amusedly. “What happened to the chicken?”

They had started their night in the library with Sophia excitedly telling them about some of the books she had been reading in school, and about her favourite stories from history class. But eventually, Sophia had given into her curiosity and asked Charlotte about life on Greek Street. Isabella had looked at little aghast at the possibility, but said nothing, trusting Charlotte not to scandalize her daughter. Charlotte and her household faced harsh realities on a daily basis, but despite the challenges in her life there was also family and community, and Charlotte found a number of innocent and charming stories about her neighbourhood, her house, and the people who populated them to share with Sophia.

“I don’t know,” Charlotte said with a shrug, “Perhaps it roams the streets now, unshackled … free.” She looked up towards the ceiling with a wistful sigh. “Or … perhaps my brother Jacob has already caught it, and when I get home I’ll learn if it was tasty enough to justify such a commotion,” she continued, laughing huskily a moment later when Sophia gaped at her in horror.

“You lie…” Sophia stated, though she clearly wasn’t convinced by her own words.

“Finders keepers,” Charlotte shrugged airily. “Or in this case I suppose, finders eaters.”

“Poor chicken,” Sophia sighed sadly, her words and tone prompting Isabella to shoot Charlotte a look over the top of Sophia’s head.

“Maybe not,” Charlotte said, understanding Isabella’s meaning. “The chicken was wily enough to escape the tyrannical hands of man once, it could do it again. Hope is not lost, though our dinner definitely was,” she continued, pleased to see Sophia smile before she was overcome by a long yawn.

“I think,” Isabella began upon seeing Sophia’s yawn, “that it is time for you to retire for the night.”

“But …” Sophia began, however a look from her mother halted her burgeoning protest.

“Charlotte will have all of tomorrow to regale you with … colourful tales. It would be a shame if you were too tired to appreciate them.”

“Yes mother,” Sophia said dutifully though dourly as she rose to her feet.

To Charlotte’s surprise, Sophia walked over to her, and Charlotte found herself rising to accept a hug from the girl, a grin twitching up the corners of her lips when Sophia took a moment to whisper, “I told you she’d be glad to see you,” into her ear.  

Releasing Charlotte, Sophia then made her way back over to her mother, stepping into the waiting circle of Isabella’s arms when she reached her, allowing the heiress to wrap her in a warm embrace.

“I love you so very much.” Isabella pressed a sweet kiss to Sophia’s forehead. “Sleep well.”

“I love you too,” Sophia replied, no trace of her earlier dourness present in her voice. “I’m so pleased that you and your Charlotte have made amends,” she added, stretching up onto her tiptoes so that she could whisper the words into her mother’s ear. “Goodnight mother,” Sophia said out loud as Isabella smiled at her dotingly. “Goodnight Charlotte,” Sophia said, giving Charlotte a little wave.

And with that said and done, Sophia walked over to the library door and disappeared into the hallway beyond.

“What?” Isabella asked demurely when she turned back to Charlotte to find the younger woman gazing at her softly.

“I like watching you with her,” Charlotte replied, making no effort to hide how smitten she was.  “You look so happy.”

“I am. But she is not the only person that makes me happy,” Isabella noted, holding out her hand to Charlotte who promptly took it into her own.

“Who else then?” Charlotte questioned teasingly as they stood facing each other, fingers entwined. “Jane the Cook, maybe?”

“She oft makes my palate happy,” Isabella said with a smile. “My waistline however, is another matter.”

“Your waistline is perfect,” Charlotte purred appreciatively. “As is the rest of you,” she continued, lifting her hand to Isabella’s cheek to guide the older woman’s face down for a kiss.

“What about Persephone the Horse?” Charlotte guessed, returning to her previous game when their lips parted, a little grin touching her lips when Isabella’s mouth twitched up in amusement at the implication that her horse was a person.  

“You are utterly adorable,” Isabella replied with the utmost sincerity, stroking Charlotte’s cheeks gently. “But this is not the type of play I wish to engage in now that we are alone.”

“No?” Charlotte questioned, feeling her blood begin to heat.

“No,” Isabella confirmed before leaning down to take Charlotte’s mouth in a kiss that was far more ardent than the gentle touch Charlotte had shared with her moments before.

“Does the door to this room lock?” Charlotte asked when they parted.

Isabella shook her head distractedly, busy contemplating Charlotte’s heaving chest, imagining her warm mouth smothering the tops of those pale breasts with kisses.

“You should take me on a tour to your room then,” Charlotte suggested breathlessly.

“Are you sure?” Isabella’s chest rose and fell rapidly, betraying the strength of her desire. “A room has been prepared for you. If you would prefer to -”

“Isabella,” Charlotte cut in reassuringly. “I’m sure. If you are too, then take me to bed.”

Isabella breathed in sharply at the sound of Charlotte’s words, her eyes locking intensely on Charlotte’s, the blue of them blazing as if lit by some internal fire.

“Yes,” Isabella whispered, her voice cracking with desire.

“You should take me there now,” Charlotte rasped stiffly, struggling for control as a tidal wave of desire battered every inch of her mind and body. “I fear I shall try and have you on one of these fine couches if you aren’t quick about it.”

“Charlotte,” Isabella sighed desperately, the sound traveling from Charlotte’s ears through her body to settle in the warm wetness between her legs, making her core clench and then throb.

“You really should show me to your room,” Charlotte husked, the wanton expression in her eyes making Isabella breathless.

“Yes,” Isabella whispered, Charlotte’s gaze, and tone, and nearness, setting her ablaze.  “My god,” she gasped as her skin tingled with want, in desperate need of Charlotte’s touch.  “My body is … it feels wild. I feel like I could rip this habit from my body. Like I could wrestle a bear.  You are an intoxicant, Charlotte. I am drunk on you.”

Charlotte dipped her head down and closed her eyes, trying to calm her racing heart.

“Isabella,” she groaned piteously, her control nearly gone. “Have mercy on my poor soul and take me to where I may love you.”

Isabella grabbed Charlotte’s hand quickly and gave it a tug.

“Come with me.”

 

xxx

 

“We will have to be quiet,” Isabella cautioned after carefully closing the door to her bedroom.  “Sound carries in this house.”

“Sound carries in mine too,” Charlotte replied though she was mindful to keep her voice low as she stepped into Isabella’s body.  “But there a woman’s pleasure is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I am not ashamed,” Isabella stated, reaching out to grasp Charlotte’s hand, then lifting it up to her lips to place a kiss against Charlotte’s palm. “For the first time in as long as I can remember, I am not ashamed.” She stroked Charlotte’s cheek gently.  “I am greedy,” Isabella declared, cupping Charlotte’s cheek as she stared hotly into the younger woman’s eyes.  “I want to keep your sounds all for myself.”

“You,” Charlotte groaned. “Fuck…” she exhaled, not having the mental acuity at the moment to form complex words.

Instead, she simply stepped into Isabella, using her body to move Isabella back until her body connected with the closed bedroom door. Charlotte’s hands then moved to Isabella’s waist, pulling their bodies as close together as their clothes allowed before she pressed her lips against Isabella’s, kissing her fervidly as one of Isabella’s hands settled at the nape of her neck, holding Charlotte close to her while Isabella’s other hand gripped possessively at Charlotte’s hip.

They kissed for ages, hungrily, awkwardly, pressed together against Isabella’s bedroom door until finally Charlotte managed to regain some control and pulled back from Isabella’s beautiful lips.  

Breathing heavily, Charlotte rested her forehead against Isabella’s and their laboured breaths mingled for a minute before Charlotte leaned in again, calmer now, and kissed Isabella slowly.

“Clothes,” Charlotte whispered eventually.

With that gentle word spoken, the women put some space between them and began the arduous process of removing the many layers of clothing that separated their touch starved bodies from each other.

“What dreams I have had about you,” Isabella purred when they were both finally free of their clothes.  “How many times I have awoken gasping...” Isabella sighed longingly as she reached out for Charlotte, her eyelashes fluttering in pleasure when her fingers brushed over the soft skin of Charlotte’s hip, “...wet and throbbing from remembering you and how you touched me.” Isabella drew her hand up Charlotte’s torso, inching closer and closer towards her breast as Charlotte’s eyes closed, her core pulsing at the sound of Isabella’s words. “Remembering how you felt …” Isabella continued as one of her thumbs brushed over Charlotte’s nipple, “how you tasted,” she purred as Charlotte’s nipple hardened under her thumb.  “How I tasted on your lips...”

Charlotte could take no more, and a second later, Isabella gasped as Charlotte’s arms wrapped around her and tugged Isabella towards her, her mouth claiming Isabella’s in a hot, messy, desperate kiss that ended with Charlotte’s hands grasping at Isabella’s wonderfully bare ass as Isabella’s fingers clawed at Charlotte’s back.

“You are a wonder. God, how I wish I was taller than you,” Charlotte husked lustily as she gazed up at Isabella.

“Why?” Isabella asked distractedly, her mind already focused on contemplating what parts of Charlotte’s body she wanted to put her mouth on first.

“So that I could pick you up and throw you on that bed,” Charlotte replied, her words drawing Isabella’s full attention back to her.

“I will do it then,” Isabella decided.

And before Charlotte’s mind had been able to fully comprehend the the implications of Isabella’s words, Charlotte found herself being lifted bridal style, the shock and pleasure of it tearing a happy laugh from her lips before she remembered herself and threw her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.

“Sorry,” Charlotte whispered.

“Do not worry,” Isabella replied softly before leaning forward to kiss Charlotte’s lips leisurely.

“Am I so light that you can linger like this?” Charlotte asked when their lips parted, looking aroused by the prospect, looking titillated by Isabella’s display of strength.

“Like the feather of an angel,” Isabella replied as she gazed at Charlotte lovingly.

“Is that a saying?”

“If it is not, it ought to be,” Isabella replied, finally taking a step towards her bed.

“Feeling a little strain now, my Lady?” Charlotte teased.

“Not at all,” Isabella said, holding Charlotte’s gaze intensely.  “As you well know, Ms. Wells. My arms are very strong and do not tire easily.”

Isabella’s words drew delicious memories of Isabella inside of her, stroking her firm and deep, to the forefront of Charlotte’s mind, and the younger woman moaned softly.

“I never imagined that it would end up being _your_ words that made _me_ blush,” Charlotte breathed out incredulous but smiling as Isabella lay her down on the bed.

“I would like to make you blush all over,” Isabella purred as she joined Charlotte on the bed and then moved to straddle her, stoking her hand slowly and thoughtfully over Charlotte’s chest and then down her quivering abdomen, eyeing Charlotte’s body like an artist contemplating an empty canvas.

Isabella had had so many long months alone in her bed to imagine how she would touch Charlotte again if she had been lucky enough to win back the younger woman’s favour, and now that she had Charlotte beneath her she hardly knew where to begin.

“Fuck,” Charlotte exhaled, her hips rolling helplessly into Isabella’s body, at that moment completely at her ladyship’s mercy.

Isabella smiled at her wickedly, and then she leaned down, drawing their lips together in a hungry kiss as her hands began to explore Charlotte’s glorious body.

 

xxx

 

Charlotte sighed softly as she arched her back, the movement jostling Isabella slightly as Charlotte stretched her pleasantly aching muscles. Isabella still lay between Charlotte’s legs, but heiress was presently at rest, her head simply laying on Charlotte’s stomach as she enjoyed the closeness of Charlotte’s body after hours of lovemaking.

“Should we talk about it?” Charlotte asked, breaking the peaceful silence between them as she resumed running her fingers indolently through Isabella’s raven waves.

“About what?” Isabella inquired lazily, her mind still partially engulfed in a haze of post-coital euphoria, aware of very little other than how good it felt to have Charlotte’s body pressed against her own while Charlotte’s fingers ran through her hair.

“About what happens to us, at the end of this weekend,” Charlotte murmured.

“Yes,” Isabella breathed out, the last of the fog clouding her mind finally disappearing. “I suppose we should,” she agreed, shifting on the bed so that instead of her head resting on Charlotte’s stomach it lay on the pillow beside Charlotte.

“You live just down the road now.” Charlotte’s voice was more tentative than it had been since the beginning of their walk in the garden as she turned to face Isabella.  “Was that on purpose?”

“Yes,” Isabella breathed, looking away from Charlotte bashfully after she had spoken.

“Don’t look away. Please,” Charlotte said gently, lifting her hand up to Isabella’s face, stroking her chin tenderly before nudging underneath it, encouraging Isabella to look back up at her.  “Your feelings are safe with me,” she promised when Isabella’s eyes met hers again. 

“I’d hoped,” Isabella paused, releasing a breathy puff of air as she gave her head a shake, “that we might somehow bump into each other. A ridiculous notion, I know,” she continued, glancing away from Charlotte briefly, embarrassed. “Somehow it brought me comfort to think that I was close to you. To think that if you needed me, I could be with you in a matter of minutes.”

“We would never have bumped into each other,” Charlotte said, even though she was touched by sentiment behind Isabella’s words.

“I know,” Isabella acknowledged.  

Geographically she was only about a quarter of an hour’s walk from where Charlotte lived, but in so short a distance existed a great divide. The residents of St. James Square did not accidentally wander up to Greek Street. If the nobility was there, they were there for a reason. And no resident of Greek Street would enter St. James without being certain that a resident would vouch for their presence there lest they find themselves receiving a trashing for daring to ‘menace the neighbourhood’ by simply existing within it.

“There is still no easy way for us to be together,” Charlotte continued, even though the harsh realities of the social divide between them was the last thing she wanted to contemplate with Isabella naked and warm in arms.

“No,” Isabella agreed.  “But I do not care.” Charlotte’s eyes widened in surprise at the forcefulness of her declaration.  “Do not look so surprised,” Isabella chided lightly, bringing a slight flush to Charlotte’s cheeks.  “It is true that I once guarded my name and my position in society fiercely, however when I brought Sophia to live with me, I understood what the consequences would be. But she is my daughter, and I love her, and with the means to support myself I would not allow us to be separated any longer,” Isabella explained.  “I do not wish to be separated from you any longer either, Charlotte.”

“Your reputation is already ruined, so why not tumble with me, is that it?” Charlotte asked sardonically, trying to mask the hurt the thought caused her.

“No,” Isabella said immediately, reaching out to cup Charlotte’s cheek. “That is not my meaning.  I … when I was younger, I had nothing but artifice. I needed my reputation to hide the rot I felt lay beneath my mask. I did not love myself enough to know my heart, let alone follow it. But knowing you, Charlotte, has made me wiser and braver. Brave enough to listen to my heart, to fight for my daughter, to fight for myself. I am no longer afraid of what lies beneath. I know my mind and my heart now and I will not deny them. I choose to love you … if you will have me.”

Charlotte wanted so badly to lean in and kiss Isabella and to never stop kissing her, but she could not, not yet.  There were things she needed to say.

“I am still who I am, Isabella,” Charlotte breathed out. “I will not be kept. I am a bawd, and will continue to be a bawd,” Charlotte stated plainly.  “You care for me, but I know what you think of my house and what happens in it. Your lot talking about you with someone like me is different than the talk about Sophia, or even idle gossip about you being caught watching some pretty little scullery girl as she bent over scrubbing floors.”

“Charlotte,” Isabella gasped indignantly. “I have never …”

“What happened to ‘I don’t care’?” Charlotte asked, lifting an amused brow at Isabella.

“The situations are not the same.  You are not a helpless young girl whose livelihood and wellbeing are dependant on me.”

“Quite right, my Lady,” Charlotte said, approving of Isabella’s answer though she had only meant the comment as a joke. “I only mean that other women of your inclination and stature, they get away with these sorts of relationships by claiming innocence and chastity. They would have people believe that they do nothing but garden together and hug each other when they lay in bed at night. But I am a whore. A brazen strumpet, and a notorious one at that, as you pointed out when we first met. No one is going to believe that you and the infamous C.W. are only hugging if they take notice of my comings and goings from your house, especially if my goings are routinely in the morning”

Isabella sighed unhappily and shifted closer to Charlotte seeking a comforting hug which Charlotte promptly granted.

“We will find a way together,” Isabella said minutes later. “I do not care not if it takes time, or if it is difficult. I want to be with you. I am willing to work to be with you.”

Charlotte wrapped her arms more tightly around Isabella and buried her face in her lady’s neck to hide her teary smile.

Upon feeling the wet warmth of Charlotte’s tears on her skin Isabella did not try to force Charlotte’s face up to face her, but she did whisper, “Your feeling are safe with me too, Charlotte.”

It took a few moments but eventually Charlotte lifted her head and gazed at Isabella with the red-rimmed eyes she had been so determined not to show the woman upon arriving at the manor, and though Charlotte knew she looked a wreck, Isabella continued to look at her like she was an angel.

“I don’t know how to do this part,” Charlotte admitted, lifting her hand to wipe at her watery eyes.  “It’s sex I know, not … romance,” she continued a bit helplessly.

“I am a beginner myself,” Isabella replied soothingly. “We will figure this out together too,” she continued before settling onto her back and then encouraging Charlotte to rest her head upon her chest.  

“I’m willing to work to be with you too,” Charlotte whispered, snuggling into the warmth and comfort of Isabella’s arms.  “Pa and Nancy are never going to let me live this down.”

“Surely they do not disapprove,” Isabella breathed out. “They were both very kind and gracious to me in the days after … you shared your gift with me,” Isabella continued, making Charlotte smile at how delicately she referred to their first night together after the filthy things she’d heard Isabella say to her that very night.

“They want nothing but for me to be happy,” Charlotte replied lightly.  “Man, woman, it matters not to them. I only meant that … how we were that night, that you stayed with me through the night, that no money was exchanged … it was significant, and they teased me some. It got my back up a bit, and I told them that you weren’t my beloved. And now...”

“I am?” Isabella asked hopefully.

“You always were,” Charlotte replied wryly. “I just didn’t want to admit it ... to myself even. I was scared. I _am_ scared. There is nothing more terrifying to me than feeling something with all my heart.”

“Yes,” Isabella whispered shakily.  “I quite agree. I never knew feelings could be so exhausting. Conversations with you used to leave me in need of a nap,” she continued, smiling a little when she felt Charlotte’s body begin to shake against her as the younger woman laughed quietly.

“Are you worried about Sophia?” Charlotte asked once she had settled down, remembering what Isabella had said earlier that evening about still wanting to make a good impression on her daughter.

“You mean her reaction to our relationship?” Isabella queried.

Charlotte hummed, “Yes,” in response.

“I confess, I think she already knows,” Isabella said somewhat ruefully.

“We were quiet,” Charlotte said, and this time it was Isabella’s turn to chuckle, though she did it with a sort of amused horror.

“I … dear god, Charlotte. I was not implying that she had heard us ... in flagrante delicto -” Isabella said waving her hand lightly.

“What does that mean, Lady Fitz?” Charlotte asked curiously.

“It is Latin, for ‘in blazing offence’.”

“Oh, I like that,” Charlotte declared wickedly.  “In fragrandee…”

“Flagrante,” Isabella gently corrected.

"Flagrante,” Charlotte pronounced, correctly this time.  “Dilucto?”

“Delicto.”

“In flagrante delicto,” Charlotte then said, putting it all together proudly.  “I’m going to use that.”

“Shall we test it out now?” Isabella asked, laughing.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Charlotte hummed ponderously.  “I suppose I could say something like … don’t worry about Sophia, my Lady.  My Ma and Pa heard us in flagrante delicto and the world kept spinning. It’s what happens in houses, lives are shared,” Charlotte delivered with great flourish, grinning at Isabella.

Isabella stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out if Charlotte was joking, and to her horror she concluded that while Charlotte was definitely teasing, she wasn’t lying.

“You’re playing with me,” Isabella said, still trying desperately to hold onto hope.

Charlotte shook her head.  “Don’t worry.  Pa, doesn’t think ill of you. Ones beloved should draw such sounds from them. It’s when they don’t that you must worry. Besides, Lord knows he and Ma never tried to protect my ears, even back when I was young and more or less innocent.”

Isabella blinked at her a few times, clearly not knowing how to respond to that, so Charlotte took pity on her and reminded her what they had been discussing before the conversation had turned to the number of people that Isabella had taken tea with who had also heard her orgasm.

“What makes you suspect that Sophia knows?”

“She was …” Isabella sputtered a little, her mind still lingering on Charlotte’s previous comments.  “After we were united at your house, she was full of questions about how we had met, how we had become so familiar, why I brought her to you for protection,” Isabella continued having pulled herself together. “I provided answers to some of her questions, but others I know were not satisfactorily accounted for. After the time she spent with Harcourt however … well, she had no more questions for me about the nature of our friendship.”

“You think he told her?”

“He long suspected I held lustful feelings towards you. He was perhaps aware of what lay dormant inside of me before I was,” she noted darkly, hating the thought that Harcourt had been able to see her so clearly, in any regard, but especially in this. “It is exactly the type of thing he would have told her, thinking that it would poison her against me, that it would bolster his claims that I had lost my wits. But she still came to me, Charlotte. She chose to believe me. And … she went to find you, to do what I could not and bring us together so that we might mend what had been broken.  And this afternoon, in the stable, as well as tonight in the library  ...” Isabella paused and blushed. “She referred to you as ‘my Charlotte’.”

“I like the sound of that,” Charlotte breathed out.

“My Charlotte,” Isabella whispered to her, testing out the taste of the words on her tongue.

“Again,” Charlotte demanded playfully.

“My Charlotte,” Isabella repeated, laughing a moment later when Charlotte gathered her up in her arms and began to rain kisses over every inch of Isabella’s skin she could reach.

“I have not wanted to question it, her acceptance, her … support,” Isabella began a moment later, once Charlotte’s barrage of kisses had transformed into a lazily spattering of them. “I’m afraid it will collapse into ashes at my feet if I were to acknowledge it with her. It took me so long to accept that my feelings were not sin … it baffles me how readily she can.”

“She did go to an all-girls school,” Charlotte pointed out as if that was a complete response to Isabella’s words.

“What does that mean?” Isabella asked.

Charlotte lifted an eyebrow at Isabella who continued to stare at her questioningly for a moment before her eyes finally widened in understanding.

“You think Sophia …”

“I know not about Sophia,” Charlotte said quickly before Isabella could worry herself too much.  “But some girls always are, and other girls always find out. Knowledge of our type of love would not be unheard of to most girls at such a school, even though once they’ve left school many like to pretend they’ve never heard of Sapphists, and certainly won’t admit to having tried it on themselves.”

“You know this for a fact?” Isabella asked curiously.

“You were not my first woman,” Charlotte replied.  “Nor my first Lady.”

“I see,” Isabella breathed out, eyelashes fluttering as she digested Charlotte’s words. “I adored my governess, but it seems I missed out on quite an education by being schooled at home,” she continued a moment later, making Charlotte laugh.

“I could talk to her if you’d like,” Charlotte offered tentatively, uncertain how Isabella would take the offer. “Even if Sophia had no special friend at school, there are many things that women should know that they are not told. I do not mean to encourage her towards anything, only to give her the information she needs to be safe and … one day, fulfilled.”

Isabella thought about how many of her own bodies mysteries had been kept from her for most of her life. She thought about how much shame she had attached to her body for what Harcourt had done to it, and how much she had hated her body for betraying her at the most basic level by maturing, her ripening breasts, and widening hips, and all the other signs of having reached marriageable age, filling her fear. She thought about how confused and upset it had made her when she had woken up sticky between her legs, not understanding why or how her body could make her throb with need for an act that had caused her so much pain and suffering. She thought about how long it had taken her to even attempt to take the smallest amounts of pleasure from her body, and she thought about how guiltily she had done so before she had met Charlotte and learned to see beauty in desire.

If Charlotte could help Sophia avoid such shame, uncertainty, and confusion, then Isabella could see only good in that.

“Thank you, Charlotte. Truly,” Isabella breathed out softly, kissing Charlotte tenderly. “But perhaps not tomorrow. Sophia has planned a day full of gaieties for us. Let us hide away from world and its complications for at least one more day.”

“What gaieties?” Charlotte asked curiously, thinking about the package William had mentioned arriving for Sophia as she settled her head upon Isabella’s breast again, her eyelids beginning to droop as the warmth from Isabella’s body began to flow into every inch of her, calming her and soothing her.

“Oh, she’s being very secretive,” Isabella commented, gently stroking Charlotte’s back. “Though I did get a notice for fireworks, so I hope you are not overly attached to your eardrums,” she continued, an adoring smile touching her lips a few seconds later when Charlotte laughed sleepily, her breath warming Isabella’s skin.

“I’bella,” Charlotte mumbled some minutes later, surprising Isabella who had thought Charlotte had fallen asleep.

“Hmm?” Isabella hummed, wondering what pressing thought was making her beloved fight off sleep.

“How … exactly did ... adore ... governess?” Charlotte asked, managing to form distinct words this time, though she was still very clearly only partially awake.

“This is the question you choose to battle against Morpheus to ask?” Isabella questioned incredulously, smiling down at the ridiculous, beautiful, wonderful woman cradled in her arms.

“Wanna know,” Charlotte murmured sounding disgruntled in the way only sleepy people could when the world presented them with even a mild inconvenience.  “Dreams maybe? Like me?”

“No, not dreams like with you,” Isabella breathed out, continuing to run her hand gently up and down Charlotte’s back. “I did not know how to have such dreams until you showed me what magic women could make together. I have had such dreams only about you.”

“Tha’s good,” Charlotte exhaled, sleepily kissing at Isabella’s shoulder. “I’m greedy too,” she explained a moment later, making Isabella smile widely as Charlotte fitted herself against her side again, sleep rapidly descending upon her.

Isabella closed her eyes and relaxed back into the mattress, allowing the warmth from Charlotte’s body to wash over her, to seep into her, to fill her with a sense of peace and contentment that had been beyond Isabella’s imagining for so much of her life.

 _Charlotte_ , she thought blissfully, _my Charlotte_ , her mind purred, and then she too succumbed to sleep.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you've enjoyed Charlotte, Isabella (and Sophia's) continued adventures. As always, comments are welcome and very appreciated :)


	3. Chapter 3

_**Greek Street** _  
_**Four Months Later** _

Charlotte sighed tiredly, stretching her neck left and then right, attempting to ease some of the tension that had built in her back throughout a long night on her feet walking the house and keeping order. As she began to climb the stairs, eager for her bed and sleep, she could still faintly hear Sukey and Lucy talking in the kitchen as they shared what was left of a bottle of gin, and as a peal of laughter drifted up to her ears, a tired smile tugged up Charlotte’s lips.

On another night Charlotte might have gone back down the stairs and joined them, but her day had been as long as her night, and she feared that she might not be able to find the energy to climb the stairs later if she were to set herself down in a chair.

As Charlotte approached her door, she noticed a faint light shining from underneath, and her heart began to beat a little quicker. None of the girls would have dared entered her room without her permission, which meant that it had to be ...

“What a sight to come home to,” Charlotte breathed out, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across her lips as she stepped into the room and found Isabella waiting for her in bed, nude, Charlotte could already tell, under the covers. The sight stirred a warmness inside of her, and her previous exhaustion evaporated like a tendril of smoke. “Nobody told me you’d been spotted.”

“Then tonight has been another successful gambit,” Isabella said proudly as she watched Charlotte begin to undress. “The evidence cannot be disputed. ‘Stage Dress’ must become my official custom,” she continued, her use of the phrase ‘stage dress’ drawing a smile from Charlotte.

‘Stage dress’ was the way Isabella referred to the disguises they had taken to wearing in an attempt to keep their private affairs, private.

The idea to wear a disguise had first come to Charlotte a month before when she’d had the desire to visit Isabella during daylight without being noticed. In order to accomplish this, she asked Jacob locate Violet Cross for her, and then she had struck a deal with the former harlot to buy one of the uniforms she had worn while serving in Justice Hunt’s house. Dressed in the new garb, Charlotte had then taken to St. James Square, and just as she had suspected, the sight of a domestic had not roused the slightest bit of interest in the members of the nobility she had passed by. Even Isabella’s long-time maid, Stella, who was quite familiar with Charlotte, hadn’t immediately recognized her when Charlotte had first appeared at the door.

It had taken Fanny commenting a few weeks ago about how useful it was to have another ‘tall one’ in the house however, for the idea of wearing a disguise herself to blossom in Isabella. Isabella had always avoided the common areas of the house where culls roamed, taking stock of the girls before making their selections, but it wasn’t always possible for her to avoid being seen if men entered shortly before or shortly after she had. The cloak she had worn had always helped disguise her face, but she was very obviously a woman underneath it, and a statuesque one at that. The men visiting the house never got a chance to observe her cloaked figure for long since the girls knew to usher Isabella to the private area of the house as soon as she was spotted, but because it was Charlotte Wells’ house where this lady was sighted, because Charlotte and Isabella were known to be acquaintances, and because few noble women were of Isabella’s height, gossip had inevitably started to spread. Since Isabella had adopted gentleman’s dress however, her presence had not garnered a second glance from the culls prowling around the house.

“How long do I have you for?” Charlotte asked, smiling to herself as she watched Isabella watch her in the mirror that rested on her dressing table.

She had just bent over to begin removing her garters, and Isabella’s lazy gaze had immediately focused, the heiress’s lips parting covetously as she gazed upon the rounded cheeks of Charlotte’s bottom.

It was usually Charlotte who made the trip to St. James Square for their nights together, and when she did she almost always stayed until morning. When Isabella came to her on Greek Street however, there was never a guarantee that Charlotte would have her until morning. Isabella’s house was in one of the safest parts of the city, and Stella lived-in so Sophia was never really alone at night, but Isabella was still wary of being gone for too long on a regular basis. Charlotte was able to tempt her to stay the night at times, but she never pressed Isabella too hard. She knew that Isabella loved both her and Sophia, and understood that Isabella was doing the best she could under their current circumstances.

“As long as you want me,” Isabella replied, smiling happily at Charlotte when the younger woman turned to face her. “Sophia is at a school friends house for the night.”

Charlotte looked at her with surprise as she ran her fingers through her curly bobbed hair, attempting to return some order to it now that she was free of her damnable wig.

“Why didn’t you send a note?” she asked, brows scrunching cutely in confusion as she headed towards the bed, finally nude and ready to join Isabella. “I could have come to you.”

Charlotte loved her home, but she also loved Isabella’s expensive sheets, and the lavish breakfasts that were served after a night spent sleeping on those sheets.

“Stella is still home,” Isabella explained, lifting the edge of Charlotte’s sheet to create a pocket for Charlotte to slip into.

“Stella knows what we are to each other,” Charlotte pointed out, groaning softly with pleasure as she wrapped her arms around Isabella and then leaned up to kiss her.

Isabella kept a small household at St. James, having brought only the servants that she knew were loyal to her. This faith that Isabella had in the people that shared her home meant that while she and Charlotte were not quite as informal with each other as they were at Greek Street, they did not have to hide either. If Isabella held Charlotte’s hand in her own during breakfast, she continued to hold it as William came in to serve the next dish. If they were in the library lounging, Charlotte’s head laying in Isabella’s lap, they felt no need to disrupt the intimate contact when Stella entered with drinks. When Isabella bade Charlotte goodbye at the door, she did it properly, pressing soft kisses to Charlotte’s lips before the door was opened and they parted ways. This meant that Isabella’s home at St. James was a real home, a true sanctuary, instead of being the gilded cage that the house she had been forced to share with Harcourt for so long had been.

“But she does not need to hear it,” Isabella retorted, running her hands luxuriously over Charlotte’s back, enjoying the soft skin and the gentle play of Charlotte’s muscles as the younger woman moved, kissing her neck, and shoulders, and chest.

“You know I can be quiet,” Charlotte mumbled into Isabella’s skin.

“I don’t want you to be quiet,” Isabella whispered hotly, drawing a sinful smile to Charlotte’s lips. “I want to hear you tonight.”

While Isabella insisted on a certain amount of discretion during intimacies at St. James Square, she had overcome her embarrassment at the idea of their lovemaking possibly being overheard by the residents of Greek Street. Isabella’s level of comfort at Greek Street had even reached the point where on the occasions that she spent the night, she no longer thought twice about joining the rest of household, wigless and in half dress, for breakfast in the morning, not to mention that she had long ago stopped blushing to her roots when Charlotte would tease her, or kiss her, or whisper something naughty into her ear while they were around members the younger woman’s family unit.

“So, make me moan then,” Charlotte said, bucking her lips into her lady before grabbing one of Isabella’s wandering hands and drawing it to her breast.

Isabella laughed softly as she teased Charlotte’s nipple to stiffness, and then she took hold of Charlotte’s hips and flipped the younger woman over so that she could cover Charlotte’s body with her own.

As Isabella pressed fully against Charlotte’s side, her hand slipped under the pillow her head had been resting on before Charlotte joined her on the bed. A few moments after that Charlotte gasped in surprise and then moaned, long and low, when the object Isabella had fetched from under the pillow pressed against the inside of her thigh.

“Is that mine?” Charlotte breathed out huskily, her legs automatically parting in invitation as Isabella teased the head of a bone phallus higher on her inner-thigh.

“Hmm,” Isabella hummed before dipping her head down to take one of Charlotte’s nipples into her mouth, sucking hard for a moment before licking the stiff tip teasingly, making Charlotte begin to squirm with pleasure. “You have broadened my horizons a great deal. But not enough for me to know where to purchase one of these myself,” Isabella murmured before shifting her lips to Charlotte’s other breast so that she could love it too.

Charlotte laughed throatily at that before Isabella teased a wanton sigh past her by dipping the rounded head of the toy between her folds and proceeding to slowly, maddeningly, drag it through Charlotte’s growing wetness, stroking again, and again, and again until Charlotte moaned brokenly.

“Do you like it?” Isabella whispered intensely, gazing down at Charlotte, drinking in the sight of her face contorting in pleasure as she gently teased the head of the toy over Charlotte’s bud for the first time, her own breath catching excitedly when Charlotte released a needy moan. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” Charlotte shuddered, her hips jerking as she spoke, seeking firmer contact. “I like it.”

“Would you like it inside of you?” Isabella purred, and the moment the words were out of her mouth, Charlotte’s hips jerked again. “I shall take that as a ‘yes’. Are you ready for me?” Isabella inquired, and Charlotte’s eyes squeezed shut as her hips shifted desperately in response to Isabella’s words. “So quiet. I suppose I shall have to find out for myself,” Isabella murmured before replacing the toy with her long fingers, moaning appreciatively as she dragged them through Charlotte’s damp curls, taking a moment to luxuriate in the feel of her woman before she finally teased her fingertips against Charlotte’s entrance.

“Please,” Charlotte panted, her eyes opening to show pupils that were blown wide with pleasure, her expression so powerfully arousing that Isabella’s hips involuntarily jerked against Charlotte’s thigh, pressing down and grinding. “Fucking hell,” Charlotte exclaimed roughly, immediately reaching for Isabella’s hips, intending to encourage Isabella to do it again intentionally and repeatedly.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

“No,” Charlotte immediately yelled at whoever was outside of her door. “Go away!”

“Charlotte.”

Charlotte groaned miserably.

It was Lucy.

“Go away, Luce,” Charlotte called out again. “I’m busy.”

“You are?” Lucy asked surprised.

“She is,” Isabella called through the door, the strained note in her voice drawing a smile to Charlotte’s lips.

She clearly wasn’t the only suffering as a result of Lucy’s interruption.

“I’m coming in,” Lucy said, nonplussed by hearing Lady Fitz’s voice from within her sister’s room.

“No, you’re fucking not,” Charlotte said sharply. “We’re not decent.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Lucy pointed out, meaning both naked women's bodies, and Charlotte and Isabella naked in bed together, which she had stumbled upon one night as a result of her not being accustomed to knocking before barging into her sister’s room. “Get under the covers. I’m tired of yelling through a door,” Lucy complained.

“Then go away,” Charlotte said, almost begging at this point.

“Can’t. It’s important,” Lucy informed her. “It’s about Ma.”

That got Charlotte’s full attention, and with an apologetic look at Isabella, Charlotte arched up and kissed Isabella’s lips quickly before then shuffling out of bed.

Isabella propped herself up against the headboard and lifted Charlotte’s sheet to cover her nudity as Charlotte moved towards the door, grabbing a robe off of the back of her chair as she moved so that she would not greet her sister in her birthday suit.

“What are you talking about?” Charlotte asked urgently the moment the door was open.

Lucy glanced past her towards Isabella, her eyebrow lifting in question, uncertain if Charlotte had told Isabella the truth about what had happened to their mother yet.

“She knows,” Charlotte said, blushing a moment later when Lucy beamed at her.

It was significant that Charlotte had finally shared the truth about what had happened to Margaret with Isabella, and Lucy knew it. By telling Isabella about Margaret, Charlotte had opened up the last corner of her life to Isabella, and in that way, telling Isabella had been more than just an act of trust for Charlotte, it had been an act of commitment. That was a huge step for Charlotte, emotionally and spiritually. After all that Charlotte had been through, opening up like that was fucking brave, and Lucy was as proud of her sister as she was happy for her.

“This arrived earlier,” Lucy said a moment later, moving into the room and then closing the door before she shoved a letter in Charlotte’s direction. “It came this afternoon, but … we were busy and Sukey only just reminded me about it. It’s from her, Charlotte. She’s using a different name, but I swear, it’s Ma’s hand.”

Charlotte opened the letter hastily and devoured the contents with her eyes, her hand dropping limply to her side a minute later as she and looked up to met Lucy’s eyes as her own filled with tears.

“It’s her hand,” Charlotte breathed out, “It’s her voice,” she continued, smiling and crying at the same time as she stepped towards her sister and pulled her into a tight hug.

“Virginia,” Lucy said tremulously when they pulled apart many moments later.

“Virginia,” Charlotte breathed, stunned, struggling to comprehend that they finally, finally had confirmation that their Ma was still alive, that she had survived the trip across the Atlantic and was out there, in America. “Does Pa know?”

Lucy nodded. “I just came from him. He told me to fetch you while he was out.”

“He’s out?” Charlotte asked, confused, still in a state of shock.

“Nance,” Lucy explained. “She doesn’t know,” she continued, her focus momentarily shifting from Charlotte when Isabella moved slightly on the bed.

“Of course,” Charlotte said. “At least someone’s got their head on right,” she muttered. “We have a name now, though. That’s good, Luce. That’ll help,” Charlotte continued, drawing Lucy’s attention back to her.

“It’s still a big place,” Lucy pointed out, though Charlotte could see hope beginning to take hold in Lucy’s eyes despite her sister’s words. “And we have no people there.”

That was true, and it was a significant obstacle. Charlotte’s face started to fall, however, before despair could fully take hold of her, Isabella’s voice filled the room.

“I do.”

Both Charlotte and Lucy turned to look at Isabella where she now stood by the side of Charlotte’s bed, clutching the sheet against her.

“Lady Elizabeth Hampton in particular,” Isabella continued when neither Charlotte nor Lucy said a word. “She has been a dear friend of mine since girlhood. We remain in regular correspondence to this day,” Isabella went on, and though the significance of this comment was likely lost on Lucy, Charlotte knew that it meant Elizabeth was one people Isabella had discovered was a true friend; that she was not one of the people who had shunned Isabella after Sophia’s existence had become known, nor after the rumors about Isabella ‘playing flats’ had begun to circulate the seasons parties. “Ellie is a good and trustworthy woman, but beyond that, her husband George happens to be a good friend of the Governor, which could certainly be of use.”

Lucy turned to look at Charlotte, and Charlotte turned to look at her sister, both of them unused to pieces of good news coming so close together.

“If you don’t kiss her, I will,” Lucy said to Charlotte as her lips tugged up into a smile, the hope in her eyes no longer tentative.

Charlotte grinned at her sister and then turned to Isabella, crossing the short distance between them before taking Isabella into her arms and kissing her soundly.

“What other information did she give you?” Isabella asked when Charlotte released her, having not had a chance to read the letter herself. Elizabeth would likely need more than a name to help find the person Margaret Wells had been reinvented as. “Has she been assigned to a household? Any details we can provide Ellie will help narrow the search.”

“She wrote very carefully,” Charlotte said with a sigh. “There is little on the surface. She wouldn’t have been able to risk making it obvious. Letters are read before they reach their destinations all the time. But she’ll have left us something underneath. I’m sure of it,” she concluded before looking towards Lucy, who nodded in agreement.

“Pa’ll be back soon with Nance. Then we can all look over it together,” Lucy said, her nerves settling now that a plan was beginning to take form. “You two should get dressed,” Lucy continued, glancing mostly at Lady Fitz who was still covered only by Charlotte’s sheet. “I’ll put on some tea.”

“We’ll be down soon,” Charlotte told her before handing the letter back over to her sister.

Lucy took her leave of them after that, and Charlotte turned her attention back to Isabella.

“Belle,” Charlotte breathed out, gazing at Isabella with soft, watery eyes, still overwhelmed by all that had happened since Lucy had entered her room.

Isabella allowed the sheet she had been clutching to slip from her fingers and walked quickly over to Charlotte, opening her arms to the younger woman and then wrapping them around her tightly when Charlotte snuggled into her embrace.

“She’s really out there,” Charlotte whispered wetly against Isabella’s chest.

“She is,” Isabella breathed out, “And we will find her. You will see your mother again,” she continued confidently, silently vowing that she would move mountains if that’s what it took to make sure that the words she spoke to Charlotte were true.

They stood like that, wrapped up together, Charlotte taking comfort and finding calm in Isabella’s arms, until they heard the front door slam closed, announcing that Will and Nancy had arrived.

“Let’s get some clothes on you,” Charlotte said, brushing her fingers against Isabella’s cheek lovingly. “Where are your clothes?” she asked a moment later, looking around the room in bewilderment, forgetting that she should have been searching for the muted tones of men’s clothes instead of expecting a giant pile of vibrantly coloured dress to announce itself to her.

Isabella laughed.

“You focus on you,” she murmured, bending down to fetch the dress Charlotte had abandoned on the floor earlier, and then handing it over to her. “I can manage just fine on my own tonight,” she continued, laughing a few moments later when Charlotte breathed out, “Oh yeah,” upon seeing her retrieve a pile of darkly coloured gentlemen's clothes.

 

 

Five minutes later, Charlotte and Isabella had descended the stairs and turned towards the kitchen where they could hear Lucy, Will and Nancy talking in hushed tones.

“Charlotte,” Will said, standing the moment he saw his daughter enter the room, moving towards her before her name had even finished falling from his lips.

Charlotte smiled at him widely, heading over to him instinctively, walking straight into his arms and burying her face in his shoulder as he wrapped her in a tight hug.

When they separated, Charlotte turned to Nancy and then moved over to her, sharing a warm embrace with her as well.

“So,” Nancy said a few moments later, drawing everyone’s attention back to the matter at hand as she discreetly wiped at her eyes. “How do we get our Maggie back?”

“We start with the letter,” Charlotte said decisively as they all seated themselves around the kitchen table, her breath coming easier when Isabella’s hand slipped into her own a moment later. “And we take it from there. She’ll have found a way to give us what we need. We’ve just got to figure it out.”

 

 

The pale light of morning had begun to creep through the closed shutters by the time Charlotte and Isabella began to tiredly ascend the stairs. The group effort throughout the night had been fruitful. They had identified a number of aspects of the letter that they believed provided clues as to Margaret’s circumstances in Virginia, and they had devised a suitable cover story for why Lady Isabella Fitzwilliam would be contacting her friend in search of a convicted criminal. In a few hours, once Charlotte and Isabella had managed to get some sleep, they would sit down together and compose the letter that Isabella would send, and then their plan would officially be set in motion.

Upon reaching Charlotte’s room, she and Isabella undressed tiredly but efficiently, and then made their way towards the bed, navigating around each other easily, their sleeping arrangements now routine and familiar.

“The lantern,” Charlotte sighed woefully just after she had rested her head on the pillow.

She had forgotten to blow it out.

“I’ll get it,” Isabella murmured, leaning over to kiss Charlotte’s cheek before she slipped from the bed and crept her way over to the desk.

The room descended into relative darkness a few seconds later, and a few moments after that Isabella’s body slid back under the covers and pressed against Charlotte’s side.

“We’re not deluding ourselves, are we?” Charlotte asked softly a few minutes after Isabella had snuggled into her. “There really is a good chance your friend can find her, isn’t there? I … I don’t want hope if it’s false. I can’t … I couldn’t bear it if ...”

Charlotte’s tortured words came to a stop when Isabella’s head swam into view above her, and her racing heart beginning to calm as Isabella gently stroked her cheek.

“We made good progress tonight,” Isabella said with certainty. “There is a very good chance that with the information we can provide her, Ellie will be able to locate your mother. But even if she cannot, hope is not dead,” Isabella continued firmly. “I’ll commission an expedition to Virginia myself if that’s what it takes,” she vowed to Charlotte, her voice quivering slightly with passion. “Even if we have to search the New World ourselves, I promise you, we will find your mother.”

Charlotte looked up at Isabella, her gaze open and vulnerable in a way that she never could have imagined being with another person just a few years ago.

“I love you,” she breathed softly, reaching for Isabella’s hand as she blinked against the tears that had begun to well in her eyes. “So much,” she continued, still awed by this new reality of hers where she loved so completely and was loved just as madly in return.

She lifted Isabella’s hand to her lips and placed the softest of kisses against the back of it.

“Thank you,” Charlotte said, grateful for Isabella’s words and how effectively they had chased away the fear and uncertainty that had momentarily gripped her.

“Always, my love,” Isabella breathed softly before she leaned down and kissed Charlotte tenderly. “You need sleep,” she added gently a moment later, laying on her back before encouraging Charlotte to settle against her side.

“Yeah,” Charlotte sighed, slipping her arm around Isabella’s waist and nuzzling into her. “I’ll be out the moment I close my eyes.”

“I love you, my Charlotte,” Isabella whispered, wanting it to be the last thing Charlotte heard before sleep took her, hoping that it would bring her lover sweet dreams.

Charlotte’s lips curved up, a gentle, content smile forming on her lips before she pressed them to Isabella’s soft skin, just above her heart. Isabella’s fingers trailed down her back lightly in response, and Charlotte sighed softly as she closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to claim her, secure in the knowledge that she was safe, that she was loved, that she was home, in Isabella’s arms.

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for taking this ride me! Your enthusiasm for the story and your kind words helped spur me along when I was typing away in the dead of night, tired and bleary eyed. I hope that you've all enjoyed the final installment!
> 
> As always, comments are welcome and very much appreciated, so if you feel moved to do so, I would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> All the best,  
> Janine


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